


The Devil's Study

by violue



Series: Carnival Oasis [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood, Bottom Castiel, M/M, Mild Description of Hell, Top Dean, Tulips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 08:35:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7837843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violue/pseuds/violue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's definitely not in Valencia anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devil's Study

**Author's Note:**

> :3 Many many thanks to [Dani](http://warkitt3nz.tumblr.com) (and [Kris](http://kelisab.tumblr.com)!) for beta'ing!

It’s cold, that’s the first thing Dean’s aware of.

It shouldn’t be, it wasn’t cold when he went to sleep, and Castiel often puts out extra heat. Except… Dean can’t feel Castiel next to him. He opens his eyes, and… where the fuck…?

He’s standing in a cave, still wearing the sweatpants and t-shirt he went to sleep in, still wearing a circlet of white tulips around his wrist, something Castiel made while Dean started to doze. The cave is nondescript, as far as caves go. Dark, lit by a few ancient looking torches on the wall, nothing really to note, other than the cold, and the quiet.

And the fact that when Dean went to sleep he was still at _home._

He starts walking in the direction he’s already facing. He walks slowly, chill working its way through his bones. What he wouldn’t give for a pair of slippers right now. This place is… there’s a wrongness to it, Dean can feel it down to his marrow, to the center of his soul. The wrongness of it clings to him with the chill of the air, and only grows colder as he walks. He wants to call out to Castiel, call out to anyone, but he fears breaking the oppressive silence with his voice.

He’s been walking for at least a minute when the cave widens into a well-lit cavern, at the center of which is a fucking _throne,_ battered and weathered and covered in blood. Oh, okay sure that’s fine, that’s not terrifying at all.

There’s a sound like a distant scream, and quickly Dean turns to look back the way he came, heart jackhammering in his chest, and when he looks at the throne again there’s a man sitting in it. The man is dressed plainly, wearing clothes Dean would wear himself; well-worn jeans, a t-shirt with a flannel over it. He’s older than Dean by probably twenty years, with sandy hair and a friendly expression that Dean doesn’t trust for a second.

Who would trust a man perched upon a bloodstained throne?

“Welcome,” the man says, voice magnanimous as though Dean should be impressed with the fucking ice-cold cave they’re in.

“You gotta turn off the AC, man,” Dean says in reply.

The man tilts his head barely, and then his eyes widen. “Oh, yes of course. Humans are so fragile,” he says thoughtfully. The “room” starts to warm almost immediately, enough that Dean doesn’t feel like his toes are going to fucking fall off. “I prefer the cold, personally.”

“I can tell.”

The man smiles, though Dean supposes he’s not really a man. “You have… what’s the word…”

“Moxie? Spunk? Chutzpah?”

“Irreverence.” He says it like a compliment. Dean’s a little confused.

“Thank… you?”

“I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve brought you here.”

“ _You_ brought me here.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Okay, then yes I am wondering why you brought me here.”

“I wanted to talk about Castiel.”

Oh, shit this must be another angel.

Oh, shit this must be Castiel’s father.

Oh, _fuck,_ Dean must be in Hell.

Dean is in _Hell,_ with the devil. Oh no, this is not cool, this is not fucking cool at all.

“I was under the impression that this wasn’t my soul’s intended destination,” Dean says tightly, fighting the intense urge to cry until his lungs explode. _Stay strong,_ he tells himself, _Castiel always promised he would follow you anywhere._

“It’s not, so you can stop looking so stricken,” _Lucifer_ says, rolling his eyes.

“Oh,” Dean says, relaxing just a fraction.

“You’re not even _really_ here, not technically.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Call it an out of body experience,” Lucifer says coyly.

“Sure feels like my real body,” Dean says. Lucifer shrugs. The _devil_ fucking shrugs. “Well if you don’t want people feeling _stricken,_ this isn’t the place to bring them.”

“I apologize, this is not my favorite location either. But, it does have the best… _reception_ for contacting souls topside.” Lucifer snaps his fingers, and their location changes. They’re in a room that looks like a study, lots of mahogany furniture, lots of books, a roaring fire in a fucking fireplace. Lucifer is still seated, this time an incredibly comfortable looking leather chair.

“I thought my house was fucking warded against angels,” Dean snaps.

“Oh it is, and quite well, but I am the brightest of the angels, after all. I’m sure Castiel will ward you even more carefully after this.”

“Okay, so you wanted to talk about Cas, right?”

“Yes. A little birdie told me my son had found a mate, and I thought I should meet you, see if I approve,” Lucifer says. Dean would bet his _car_ that little birdie was God damn Gabriel. “You know, you’re a bit of a legend around here, Dean Winchester. Since the dawn of souls themselves, only one demon has ever been slain by a child _._ ”

Dean’s _so_ not going to talk about Azazel. “I’m a human, so I think you can understand why I don’t want the approval of the fucking devil.”

Lucifer grins, shark like, “So afraid, and still so irreverent. You’re terribly reckless, aren’t you? Though I think perhaps your love and faith in Castiel also makes you brave. It’s sweet, really. I like you so much already... I hope that doesn’t damage your self esteem,” he says, tapping his lip thoughtfully. “I thought perhaps you could tell me how my son has been doing? I hear so little about him these days, he’s always kept to himself, but ever since his… incident...”

What the fuck? He wants to know what Castiel has been up to? “Holy shit, why don’t you just _ask_ him?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Castiel doesn’t speak to me. He can’t stand me.”

Dean’s actually surprised to hear that. Dean had assumed, because Castiel has told Dean that his father loves him, that he must love his father in return.

“You don’t seem very broken up about it.”

“I have had time to cope,” Lucifer says. Dean has no idea if he’s being sarcastic.

“So you’re enemies.”

“Of course not. I have killed many angels, he has felled many of my demons, but I wouldn’t say that we are enemies. He is my only son, I love him unconditionally. And he, in his way, loves me in return. But, he also can’t stand me. It’s simply the way of things. Castiel is far more angel than he is anything else, and angels do not like me.”

“Except Gabe.”

“I wouldn’t say Gabriel likes me either.”

Dean sighs, leaning against the desk in the room. “Okay, what do you want to know? I haven’t exactly known Cas that long in the grand scheme of things.”

Lucifer’s face transforms then, all traces of snark, mischief, and nonchalance gone. “Is he happy?”

Well that’s fucking loaded. “Yes? I mean… he seems happy. He _says_ he’s happy, and I trust him not to lie to me. And… and a lot of the time I can _feel_ his happiness.”

Lucifer nods. “That’s wonderful, tell me more.”

“He loves to cook, he loves to tell stories, he loves severing vampire heads… he’s been making these little sketches of dresses he wants to make for my nieces. He smiles to himself a lot, and hums, and sometimes I can feel the warm buzz of his grace wrapping around me…” Dean realizes he’s gushing about his boyfriend to fucking _Satan,_ and closes his mouth.

Lucifer looks pleased, though. He looks like what he is; an estranged father hearing that his cherished son is doing well. “Domesticity… it suits him, then?”

“Yeah, I gue—” There’s a tug, a pull on Dean’s being that has him looking at Lucifer in confusion. “Is that you?”

Lucifer shakes his head. He looks sad. “It’s not.”

Dean hears a voice, a chant, saying words that sound something like spellwork. It’s Castiel, the rough, gravelly tone of his physical voice, and the piercing ring of Castiel’s angelic one blending together into a singular sound. He sounds frantic and angry, words coming out in a stream of Enochian that Dean has absolutely no hope of deciphering.

“He’s very strong,” Lucifer says, eyes on the ceiling as though he’s looking up at Castiel. “I’ve heard he feeds well from you.”

“Yeah, I’m not talking to the devil, _or_ my boyfriend’s fucking father about that, thanks,” Dean says, oddly fearful as the sound of Castiel’s voice grows. “You going to send me back?”

“Why bother? He’s nearly broken through, may as well let him finish his work. It’s been good to meet you, Dean, pity we didn’t have more time to talk.”

“So, uh…” Castiel’s voice is loud, now, urgent and demanding as Dean fumbles for something to say to bring closure to this clusterfuck of a chat. “Do I have your approval?”

Lucifer looks at Dean then, smiling that shark-like grin again. “I think so, whether you want it or not.”

“Well, that’ll definitely haunt me for—”

 

 

 

 

Dean’s eyes pop open and he’s bolting upright in bed, disoriented and panicking at the sudden shift as reality comes rushing back to greet him. The room is warm, the air stagnant, every plant, every flower, every blade of grass dried and withered. Castiel is crouching beside the bed, head bowed, hands bloody where they’re gripping Dean’s left arm, mauve cassock marred with patches of blood. Dean’s confused until he sees the sigil on his own chest, drawn in blood. It feels hot on his skin. Castiel looks up at him eyes fierce and enraged.

“ _Cas,_ ” Dean says, unsure of what to say.

“Forgive me,” Castiel pleads, pulling Dean’s hand to his lips so he can shower it with kisses, “I had assumed my wards were more than enough. They _were_ , but not against… are you alright, Dean? I can’t believe that he’d— oh, Dean, please tell me you’re okay.”

“I’m okay, Cas, everything’s okay,” Dean promises. Castiel’s despair and fear are so thick in the air Dean can almost taste them.

“I can’t imagine what he was thinking, what did he… what did he do to you? Oh, Dean, I woke and couldn’t sense your soul at all, and I— I got to you as fast as I could.” Castiel clambers onto the bed and wraps his arms around Dean. He’s shaking.

“Cas, it’s okay, I’m okay. I promise, I was just kind of freaked out, that’s it. He didn’t hurt me. Or my soul,” Dean says emphatically.

Castiel pulls back, looking surprised. “He didn’t?”

“He wanted to uh… talk.”

“He wanted to _talk_?” Now Castiel’s pain is giving way to irritation. “It’s not easy to steal souls, Dean, even for him. He truly went through the trouble of snatching your spirit like a thief to _talk_ with you? About what?”

“He wanted to know how you were…”

Castiel looks like he wants to punch Dean in the face, and then Dean realizes he probably wants to punch his father. “He wanted to know how I was, and _this_ is how he went about getting that information. The amount of effort it would take to pluck a soul from a living body and take it to Hell, even temporarily… and he just… he wanted to ask how I was?!” Castiel’s yelling now, pulling himself out of Dean’s arms to pace around the dead grass on the floor of their bedroom. God, this place looks pitiful right now, Castiel’s panic must have been _severe_ for everything to have died. Even the tulips around Dean’s wrist are withered and brown.

“If he can only do it temporarily, how come you’re so freaked out?”

“A lot of trauma can be inflicted in a short time, Dean,” Castiel says gravely.

Well, that’s not fucking terrifying. “Oh…”

“But don’t worry, this won’t happen again. I’ll make better wards.”

“Yeah, he said you would.”

“Oh I’m sure he just knows _everything_ I’ll do, doesn’t he,” Castiel snaps, glaring around the room like it’s offended him.

“Wow, I really had no idea you felt this way about him.”

“He’s the _devil,_ Dean. Why wouldn’t I?”

“He’s your dad, I dunno,” Dean says awkwardly.

“You don’t like _your_ father either.”

“Okay, you got me there.”

“So, he just… wanted to know how I was? That’s it? He could have gone about it any number of ways, you realize, he did it like this to _vex_ me, he took what’s _mine_ because he could, and how did he even _know_ about you—” Castiel’s still bloodied fists clench. “ _Gabriel_. That irresponsible little—”

“Cas, it’s okay, we’re okay, I’m okay, I’m home now.” Dean gets out of bed and stands in front of Castiel, taking his hands. “Your dad wanted to know that you were doing okay, and now he knows, and meanwhile I’m back with you where I belong.”

Castiel relaxes slightly. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “You’re right. It’s over.”

“You’re going to make stronger wards so Satan can’t snatch me from my bed in the night to fucking _gossip_.”

“Yes,” Castiel says, nodding, “I am.”

“And considering where I just was, I’m pretty okay.”

“You are, right?”

“I mean… it was _Hell,_ Cas, that’s some alarming shit, but yeah I’m okay. Didn’t even see any demons while I was there. It was probably the best case scenario as far as visits to Hell go, right?” Dean wonders if he should share the part about having Lucifer's approval. Now's probably not the time.

“I suppose…”

“Meanwhile, _look_ at this place, Cas. You killed all our plants!”

Castiel is pouting now. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know, Cas, I know. I’m sorry you were so scared, man… that must have been a terrifying few minutes,” Dean says, rubbing Castiel’s palms with his thumbs, then leads them both over to the tiny sink in the corner that never gets used because the water’s only settings are hypothermia-cold and scalding-hot.

Castiel shakes his head slowly. “It took me _hours_ to reach you. Time passes differently in Hell, Dean... sometimes faster, sometimes slower, but never quite the same as here on Earth.” He sighs. “I was getting close to going down there myself to fetch you.”

Dean opts for scalding water and quickly washes away the blood on Castiel’s hands. Hours? Holy shit. It hurts to think of Castiel so panicked and angry for a few minutes, let alone _hours._ “Well I’m glad you got through, Cas. I was scared when I realized where I was, you know… but I knew you’d come, because you promised. Lucifer said my love and faith in you made me brave.”

“Did he?” Castiel says, as they both dry their hands on Dean’s shirt.

“Yeah, he did.” Dean grins and clutches Castiel’s hands tight as he looks into his eyes, already anticipating the glow. “Even the fucking devil can see how much I love you, Cas.”

 _Ah,_ there it is. Castiel’s eyes light up as he pulls Dean into another kiss. “Say it again,” he whispers.

“I love you, Cas.”

Castiel practically shoves him onto the bed, yanking his sweatpants and boxers down.

“So you’ve got some stuff on your mind then,” Dean says conversationally as Castiel more or less tears his bloodstained cassock off his body.

“I need you,” Castiel says, voice pleading. He clambers into Dean’s lap, kissing him hard while they both grope around the bed for the jar of coconut oil underneath the pillows. Dean finds it first and Castiel snatches it out of his hand to get some onto his fingers and reach behind himself.

Dean would very much like to watch Castiel get himself ready, but he can’t, because Castiel is determined to kiss Dean within an inch of his life. His kisses are needy, urgent. He has a good hold on the back of Dean’s head with his free hand, and he’s rocking just slightly in Dean’s lap.

A minute or two passes. Castiel’s probably getting ready as fast as he can, but just to be an asshole, Dean decides to confess a sin.

“When I was fourteen,” he says in between kisses, “I egged my math teacher’s house because he always pronounced my last name like ‘Weenchester’ no matter how many times I told him it was _Win_ chester.”

Castiel lets out a confused and startled laugh as his tattoos start to glow. “You are very sensitive, aren’t you?”

“Kids called me ‘Dean the Ween’ the _entire time_ I was at that school, Cas,” Dean grumbles, biting at Castiel’s neck. Castiel moans when Dean bites him, so Dean bites a little harder before continuing his story. “I egged his house and threw a bunch of toilet paper in the trees outside the place, and then he threw out his back trying to clean the mess up, so I feel pretty damn bad about that one.”

Castiel groans and whines, and then he’s lifting himself up and grabbing Dean’s cock to hold it steady. He sinks down onto Dean slowly, warm and tight and too fucking good. Dean starts to thrust up into him, but Castiel is already on it, riding Dean with determination. He slows down as his wings close around them, creating a cocoon lit by the glow of grace light in Castiel’s eyes and tattoos. When Dean closes his eyes he can still see the light.

“I’ve met three angels now,” Dean mutters.

“I’m not completely an angel, you know,” Castiel corrects.

“Two and a half then. You’re my favorite so far. The kindest. The most brave. The most loyal.”

“Dean…”

“Love you Cas,” Dean whispers. Castiel has stopped moving, but Dean picks up the slack, holding onto Castiel’s hips and rocking up into him.

Castiel’s wings close tighter around them. “Don’t stop, alright?”

Dean’s not sure if Castiel means don’t stop fucking him, or don’t stop loving him, but either way he knows his answer.

“I won’t.”

 

*

 

The basement comes back to life with Castiel’s improved mood and his typical burst of energy; the grass is tall, green, and crowded with white tulips, while vibrant forget-me-nots spill out of the planters hanging from the ceiling. The garden boxes at the other end of the room are an explosion of wild strawberries that look bright and appetizing.

Castiel is crouched in front of the strawberries, sampling them and moaning with each bite. His wings are still out, sprawled lazily in the grass behind him, looking as fucked-out as Dean feels.

“Stop making those sounds,” Dean whines from the bed, “you’re getting me hard.”

Castiel turns around, looking at Dean’s naked body. “Doesn’t look like it.”

“ _Emotionally_ , I’m getting turned on, okay?”

Castiel arches an eyebrow, then slowly puts another strawberry in his mouth, moaning loud and really looking like he’s savoring the bite.

Dean narrows his eyes. “God, you’re such a fucking dick.”

“But you love me anyway.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean grumbles, debating on getting up to get his hands on one of those damn strawberries, “don’t let it go to your head.”

 

 

 

 


End file.
